The Bastard's Choice
by The Wild Stark
Summary: Everything belongs to G. R. R Martin. An AU where Jon Stark deserts the watch.
1. Chapter 1

**The Bastard's Choice**

An alternative universe where Jon Snow played at being a Tully and put family before honour. These events begin in the after he joins the wildling camp.

It had been less than two weeks since he had left the Night's Watch, to consider this strange freedom he found so unintentionally. As he walked among the ragged tents that passed for dwellings this far north of the wall he found himself reconsidering many of his most basic views as assumption after assumption was torn from him, as though hollowing out the very base of his being, the core of his beliefs. Passing through the edge of the encampment he continued on until he found himself in a clearing with a frozen stream and snow covered outcrop of rock. Approaching the rock he saw it to be covered in the ruins of the First Men. Here Jon stopped, tracing the curving patterns below the ruins he seated himself against the stone, staring absentmindedly at the water still flowing under the frozen surface of the stream.

All his life others had defined him by his birth and in these wild lands he was coming to see that he had done so himself. As Jon Snow he bought shame to his father's wife - the Lady Catelyn Stark, he was an embarrassment to his siblings – though only Sansa had ever put it so plainly and to the rest of the world he was an outsider – a bastard among the nobles and a lost rich boy among the rest. All of these things Jon Snow had lived with and he had thought he'd come to terms with them. Only here in the wild had he found the one thing he wasn't sure he could deal with. For as long as he could remember he had idolized Eddard Stark - more than Robb, more than any child did. Because Ned Stark was more than just his father, Ned Stark had been Jon Snows saviour – few other bastards could boast the proud upbringing of Jon Snow, even those with a noble father. So he had raised the Lord of Winterfell to a pedestal where he stood as a role-model, Jon Snow's image of perfection. Jon had become as hard as ice, when it was called for he could be as cold and ruthless as a Northern winter but to friends and family he was steadfast and loyal – as near as any bastard could get to a regal Lord of the North.

That was what had lead him to his current situation. Ned Stark had died and his loyalty to his family demanded action, he had wished to march with Robb more than he had wanted anything his entire life but he had not. He stayed at the Wall for one reason above all other: honour demanded it and his father had been a man of honour. So Jon Snow found himself in a wilding camp far to the north of the Wall. It was only now after talking to Ygritte that he had come to doubt that decision seriously. Eddard Stark had fathered a bastard. While he was married. One small second, a little mistake with unintended repercussions perhaps but Lady Stark had often found the heart of the matter. Honour did not demand that he bring his bastard north and raise him among the heirs of Winterfell. Family though, perhaps family did. Winter was always coming but in the winter the Tully's made their point. Family, Duty, Honour. In that order you survived the winter. Even Ned Stark put Family before honour on occasion.

Jon rose quickly, ideas forming in his mind almost as quickly as he discarded them. His father had even fought a rebellion against the Targaryen for family. Grasping at these thoughts Jon filled with excitement, with purpose. He would go south and fight with his brother to avenge their father! Half way across the clearing he stopped. 'This' he thought, 'is madness.' How could a lone boy find his way through the far north, re-join the Watch, desert the watch and then journey south with any hope of success.

Though he could stay with Ygritte and have a family of sorts. The world had told him what he was and only with the Imp's advice had he come near accepting that and so journeyed to the wall. It was said that a there were no bastards in the Watch, only brother. It wasn't true. Further north though, it seemed true, here among the wildlings he was free to be Jon and better Jon then the Bastard of Winterfell.

As the sun was setting he left the clearing and behind him he left Jon Snow the bastard Stark. He was just Jon, more confused than Jon Snow but happier for it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Jon II**

As he returned to the camp of the day he began to seek out Mance Rayder. After several minutes of terse communication with the group of Thenns in the immediate area he had his directions to the tent of the King-Beyond-the-Wall. To his surprise he found Mance Rayder's tent exactly where it had been when he first visited the previous evening as a result of the huge size of the Wildling host it could and the short days this far to the north the host could only move a few miles a day. It appeared as though Mance had no need to move since the end of the column had yet to come within a day's journey of his tent.

As he approached the tent Jon's progress was checked by armed men. He was stopped outside as a guard disappeared into the tent, returning with Tormund Giantsbane. He greeted Tormund who responded quietly "Hail Jon Snow! Now what'd be bringing you to be standing around the tent if The Mance?"

"Could you ask Mance to give me a moment to speak with him?"

Surprisingly, to Jon at least, this was all it took to gain his audience with the Wildling King. As he entered the tent Jon spotted the Lord of Bones and several unknown Wildlings all clustered around a map. He watched silently as the map was rolled up and the group moved to leave. Most ignored him as they passed, though Rattleshirt graced him with a hostile stare. Finding himself alone with Mance all he had been intending to say was disappearing and he found himself simply standing silently. The King-Beyond-the-Wall examined him briefly before beckoning him towards a makeshift table "Sit." Mance presented him with a horn of some sort of ale before continuing, "You're uncertain of your decision." It wasn't a question but Jon felt the need to say something, gulping down the ale to quickly he spluttered, "Yes . . . I mean I think so. I'm not sure your Gra – Mance. I don't think you'll understand why I'm here." They slipped into an uneasy silence and Jon found himself under the scrutiny of eyes peering over the edge of a raised horn.

The horn was emptied and Mance responded, "You think it came to me easily? I broke my word and when I deserted I left behind more then you could know. You joined the crows and left behind your family – the only family I knew before I came north was the Watch. I deserted my family, I know better any what you're going through." Again there was silence except for the sound of the peat burning all corners of the tent. "What is it?" Jon asked gesturing to his horn. "A dark beer, it's made by the Thenn. I believe they roast the grain over peat." Mance leaned in, "You know I can't let you go, you've seen too much little crow – and you wouldn't survive anyway." Finally Jon broke away from the wildling's eyes. He had seen the truth there but not the truth he had come for. "I know, but I can't fight them. I won't fight them. Why do the Wildlings march?"

Again Mace paused to refill both horns before responding, "The winds are rising, the nights grow longer and the dead walk again. The White Walkers will come and I would not have the Free Folk perish. We go south and hope to find safety beyond the Wall. Understand this, we do not seek war, only escape from the wrath of the coming winter, but I will lead my people where I must for them to survive." As he finished Mance rose. "Enough! My plans are my own. Leave me now Jon Snow." Standing Jon made his way over to the entrance but just be for he left he called over his shoulder, "It's just Jon."

Striding through the camp he realised he had no idea where to find Ygritte. Thinking of her he felt a rush of confidence in his decisions. He didn't think she'd understand if he told her but he would try and explain what he'd decided. Quickening his pace he approached where he'd seen her begin to make camp. "Ygritte!" he called out, "It's Jon, where are you?" An angry burst sounded from off to his right and a man stumbled out from behind a tree, "Hvaða fífl reika um og trufla mann á meðan hann losar sig. Fjandinn burt inni drengur annað sem þú munt frjósa í blóðugum dauða!"* Recognising the old tongue there was little Jon could do so he just said "Ygritte" again hoping that he had managed to convey the question through his voice. The Thenn took a deep breath and looked ready to continue his tirade before he looked behind Jon and gave a grunt of "Sjá" Before he could turn a familiar voice spoke out behind him "Do you know nothing Jon Snow?" Turning he saw Ygritte laughing at him. Gesturing him into a tent she spoke to the Thenn "Stundum ÉG furða ef þetta fífl er þess virði að blóðugum vinnu."

Insert mushy bedroom (or tent scene) here. I really can't write 'em. If anyone wants to give it go feel free to try – basically Jon tells Ygritte that he really loves her and has decided he truly wishes to stay with the free folk. Then he loses his virginity.

* I'm using Icelandic here to represent the Old Tongue as spoken by the Thenns of the north in order everything roughly translates to.

- What fool is blundering about at this time disturbing a man who just needs to take a piss.

- Look/See.

And – Sometimes I wonder if this idiot is worth the hassle.


	3. Chapter 3

The Bastard's Choice

_This is not a real chapter. My story is going focus mostly on Jon with Wildlings and Starks as well. The story will include chapters from different characters but not for a while. There would be no point in me writing chapters that are the same as chapters in the book and the only difference I'm using is Jon's choice which couldn't possibly have had any impact on the remaining character yet so I'd recommend that you read the chapters that take place elsewhere but at the same time. Since some of you will be too lazy here is a summary of the current events of Westeros that you should be aware of._

_I'm working off this timeline ( . /topic/31411-global-timeline/) just to keep track of the order of event (which will become much more important when more characters come into contact with each other._

**Summary**

On the sixth of November of the year 299 after Aegon's Landing Jon kills Qhorin Halfhand. A week later he arrives at the wildling camp on the Milkwater and speaks to Mance Rayder. The first two chapters of my story take place two days later. That brings us to the 17th of November. At this point the Others have attacked the Night's Watch on the Fist of the First Men, Arya is still in Westeros and Jaime has been captured by the Bloody Mummers. Robb is in Winterfell with his army. The remainder of the Great Ranging marches south towards Craster's Keep. Arya is about to meet the Brotherhood without Banners. The following chapter takes place as the Wildlings arrive at the Fist, Jon has now spent 10 days with the host.


	4. Chapter 4

Jon III

It was ridiculous, Jon thought, that the people of the Seven Kingdoms thought so little of the Wildlings. In the last week he had found that there were actually at least a dozen Kingdoms in Westeros. Well perhaps not Kingdoms, he reflected as he watched a Wildling 'Prince' having his hide handed to him by a gang of children. The Wildlings he had learnt came in peoples composed of tribes which were in turn composed of clans.

He wandered over causing the younger boys to scatter away from the fallen Wildling. "Oisín" he greeted as he gave the young man a hand up. "How goes it Jon? I suppose I'd be right in thinking that lot made off with my dinner." Jon regarded the boy, only a few months younger then himself, for a few moment, skinny, copper haired and freckled he wore ornate leather armour over a baggy woollen shirt and a heavy greased cloak. "You might sup with myself and Ygritte, I haven't seen her this evening but I bagged four hares in today" Jon said, shaking the animals in question loose from his bow, "You bring the stout and we'll provide the fare." He had found out the stout was the smoky black beer most of the Free Folk brewed. With a quick nod Oisín disappeared towards his families tents. Jon quite liked the other boy and they were quickly becoming close friends. This was partly because Oisín was part of one of the southern wildling peoples, who lived along the western side of the wall and often traded with the Watch. Oisín's people, the Daoine Deiscirt or southern folk, were quite similar to the mountain clans north of the Wolfswood. They spoke a language of their own that was similar to the mountain tribes and far removed from the Old-Tongue that was used in Thenn. According to Oisín he was in fact related to the Umbers who had once been part of his clan, the Ó Ólchobhar. Jon had had his doubts at first but he had been told that when the Umbers had needed to write their name the Maesters didn't use the same letters as the Daoine Deiscirt and so they had ended up with a mangled version of Oisín's name. That and the winning argument, to Jon at least having met the Greatjon, was the fact that Ólchobhar translated to 'lover of drink'.

A while later he found himself sitting around a fire with Oisín, Ygritte and her cousin Sitric. Sitric as it happened was none too pleased with sitting next to a Daoine Deiscirt who he considered an inferior warrior on principle and who he despised for their trade with the Watch. In the last week Jon had discovered just how little held the host together. Sitric and Ygritte were of the Skirlingár, a people similar to the Thenns who came from the Skirling pass, the north east was inhabited by the Jää Ihmisiä, to their south and east of the Skirlingár were the Hjorthorn Folk while along the eastern Wall there were the Fir Foraoise, and these were just those he knew from the past week. Just those groups spoke four languages and were generally not on the best of terms.

Something Sitric said caused Ygritte to punch him in the arm, bringing Jon back to the camp fire. Dinner was turning out to be a tense affair and as soon as he had finished Oisín rose and made to leave. As he passed by Jon called out "You're forgetting something, you think I'll let you off just 'caus some Skirling shit came for dinner?" Which caused Ygritte to give him a scowl but Oisín turned around in a blur of motion. Jon barely managed to dodge before a throwing axe thumped into the tree stump he'd been sitting on. Grinning he rose to his feet, it had become his custom in the last week to spar with Oisín every evening. It had proven to be an unforeseen challenge, even after being trained by some of the finest swordsmen the North had to offer the Wildling beat him half the time. While Jon used Longclaw, his Valyrian steel bastard sword, Oisín fought in a style he'd never seen before using a light oval shield of leather and wood with a protruding bronze spike, three shortened javelin-darts and a leaf-bladed sword only a foot and a half long. While Jon had good reflexes and a powerful build Oisín could dance around him stabbing and batting at him with the shield spike until Jon was to dizzy to stand. With his light weapons the tribal Prince wouldn't stand a chance if Jon could just touch him. Today's contest went back and forth for a few minutes until Jon managed to manoeuvre his opponent in a gap between the fire, Ygritte and a tree. Dropping his sword Oisín gave a good-natured smile "I believe that'd make it 3 games for you to my 5." Jon gave him a clap on the shoulder and prepared to sheath Longclaw when Sitric spoke behind him. "It is pity; I think how so fine a sword was to face so poor a fighter."

Frowning Jon turned to face him "You would fight me as well?" Sitric's only response was to stand and begin buckling on a large round-shield. Ygritte hurried forward and whispered in Jon's ear "You must win Jon. Custom among the Free Foll is that you steal a girl when you defeat her father or brother, mine are dead and Sitric is my nearest family. Whether it was your intent or not he feels you have slighted him by not fighting him to steal me." Looking slightly worried she continued "Normally it's just a token and as long as you put up a good show it's fine, but Sitric is swift to anger and you should watch yourself while you fight." Nodding Jon took of his cloak and pulled his blackened mail from his pack. Oisín shouted something out in several languages and began clearing a space in the snow. While Ygritte laced up his boiled leather breastplate he watched as Wildlings from the nearby tents came over and helped Oisín mark out a circle twenty paces using torches to light the ring and define the edge. By the time he was ready a crowed of at least a hundred had gathered.

Sitric stepped into the ring, dressed in iron mail and wearing a helmet with a round-shield four feet across strapped to his back. He raised an iron sparth axe over his head and called out first in Westron and then in Thennish "I, Sitric Sigurdson – the Bear of Skirling, challenge Jon the Crow to meet me in combat!" Shrugging of his annoyance at the insulting nickname Jon stepped into the ring. He needed a name among the Free Folk, a better name then Crow, and now was as good a time as any to find one. Desperately trying to think of something suitable he moved forward slowly. Just as Sitric seemed to lose his patience at Jon's slow approach, Jon responded "I, Jon Eddardson – the Wild Stark, accept your challenge."

Without a heartbeats wait Sitric roared like the bear he claimed to be and charged forward axe raised. Jon side stepped nimbly and they stopped five paces apart.

'His shield is too big' Jon thought to himself 'and he has to wield the axe to handed, all it does is weigh him down.'Before he thought this through a Skirlingár in the crowded shouted something to Sitric who charged again, this time whirling the axe around him. As soon as the blade was passed him Jon saw his opportunity to finish the fight quickly.

As the axes momentum spun his opponent around he darted forward and struck at his exposed back. Except that his blade stuck with a dull thud. Jon realised his mistake – the round-shield protected an axe man's back and shoulders from the top of his thighs to where it stuck out just above his head. Not fast enough though, as Sitric slammed the butt of the axe backwards hitting Jon's foot.

Jon retreated several paces, he was sure that blow had broken a bone in his foot. For the next ten minutes they established a pattern as Jon dodged and retreated hoping to tire his opponent. As it became apparent that this tactic wasn't working he moved on to his next idea, darting in just ahead of a blow he slammed Longclaw's pommel towards Sitric. Just as his blow connected the axe haft hit him in the side knocking him over. As he struggled to get up he saw his blow had floored Sitric as well.

Hoping he had knocked the other man out he rushed forward, as Jon neared his opponent Sitric rose and Jon saw his blow had done less damage than he hoped, he hadn't made contact with his temple but rather had hit him in the cheek. Sitric rose, spat out a couple of teeth and turned to give Jon a bloody grin. As he circled Sitric waiting for him to rise Jon saw Mance Rayder and Tormund Giantsbane in the crowd. His opponent came forward again while Jon held his ground, fending of half a dozen powerful swipes before he dodged one and charging behind the sweep of the axe he struck at the shield on his enemy's back.

Holding the blade so it faced forwards and he could stab down from above using two hands his swords pierced the shield high on the right. A grunt of pain let him know the blade had penetrated through the shield into Sitric's shoulder. Driving his opponent to his knees Jon planted a foot on the shield and pulled Longclaw free.

Seeing blood on the blade he allowed himself a grin, most of the Free Folk had never seen Valyrian steel before, let alone fought it, and Longclaw was a fine blade allowing him to pierce the shield in a way no Wildling weapon could have. With surprising speed Sitric recovered and surprising Jon he freed his dagger and struck at Jon face in one fluid movement. The blade connected just above his nose and slashed across his eyebrow. Shocked into movement by the pain Jon shot his left hand out and grabbed the Skirlingár's mail, forcing Longclaw up with his other hand he twisted it slashing the hand holding the dagger before bringing it to rest, the point facing up against Sitric's thigh. He paused blinking back the blood from his right eye. They both new the fight was over, a quick slice to the inside of a man's upper thigh and he'd bleed out in seconds. Through the blood he saw the steady rhythm of his opponents breathing as mist came out his helmet. After several breaths he heard a grunt "Yield. I yield."

Jon released Sitric who stepped back and took of his helm. The crowd gave a roar of applause, mainly the Daoine Deiscirt Jon noticed. Sitric glanced down at his left hand which he'd used to wield the dagger. The fourth finger was badly mangled and seemed to be hanged n by sking and a half broken bone. Sitric grinned at Jon raised the hand to his mouth and with a crunch and a twist tore the digit of and spat it onto the snow. "Was good fight Wild Stark!" With thatbhe turned to crowed, saw Tormund and yelled out "Tormund þig fitu gamla helvítið, hér þú ert að borða kjúkling þegar ég blæðir til dauða. Ef ég vissi ekki betur myndi ég segja að þú værir jafnvel njóta eymd mína!"* Tormund grumbled a Thennish response cauing Sitric to losse a bark of laughter before turning towards another part of the crowed "I don't suppose anyone saw where my teeth went?"

With an incredulous look at the man Jon walked over to the crowed where he saw Oisín and a few familiar Daoine Deiscirt and Ygritte. As he made he way towards Oisín and Ygritte a few of Oisín's clansmen clapped him on the back and gave their complements. As he reached them Oisín yelled out "'Twas well struck my friend, and well fought!" Glancing at Jon and Ygritte Oisín excused himself and headed towards the nearest barrel of stout. Ygritte looked up at Jon and gave a sly grin "Well if it isn't my Wild Stark." He grinned back "You could do with a name as well I think. Ygritte Twice-stolen I think." She gave a giggle "Was I worth it Jon? Or will I prove my worth now?" Without another word they moved towards the tent.

* Tormund you fat old bastard, here you are eating a chicken while I bleed to death. If I didn't know better I'd say you were even enjoying my misery!

Chapter notes: As you can see I've split up the wildlings. The Thenns and the Skirlingár are basically Vikings and they speak the Old Tongue (Icelandic). The Daoine Deiscirt (Southern People) and Fir Foraoise (Forest Men) live along the wall, they're modelled on the Gaels and speak their own language (I'm using Irish). The Hjorthorn Folk (Antler People) live by the Antler River they are similar to the Thenns and Skirlingár but speak a different dialect of the Old Tongue (Swedish). Finally the Jää Ihmisiä (Ice people) live east of Thenn and so far north they are beyond the forest, basically they live on the ice the froze over at the edge of the sea. They're base on the Inuit and speak a completely different language to everyone else (Finnish)


	5. Chapter 5

Note: I'm in the market for a beta/proof reader.

Jon IV

As the column approached the Fist of the First Men Jon grew ever more anxious, he had no desire to fight and kill his former brothers nor could he in good conscience lead the Free Folk into a trap. As they neared the Fist he had discussed this with Oísin several times over jugs of stout. Originally he had intended to tell Ygritte of his worries but he knew she wouldn't understand, life seemed so simple to her. He just had to close his eyes to see her scornful gaze "You know nothing Jon." He spoke to Oísin because his people were less wild and Oísin could understand the bonds of community in a larger form then familiar to the Skirlingár.

It had taken quite some time or more accurately quite some number of jugs, before they hatched a plan. Now two days before the column was due to reach the Fist of the First Men Jon went once more to seek an audience with Mance. Approaching the large tent he greeted the guard in his broken version of the Old Tongue. Mance was just leaving to hunt but invited Jon to accompany him. As they walked through the woods towards they place where they would meet the Giantsbane Jon decided it was best to get this done and over with. "I lied before . . . about the ranging I mean." Mance turned his piercing gaze on him before motioning for him to go on. As he continued Jon saw him knock an arrow to his bow when he was facing away. "There were three hundred Sworn Brothers led by the Old Bear. They've fortified the Fist; the Half-hand commanded a party that was searching for you. I couldn't lead the Free Folk into a trap though." Mance nodded slowly before asking "What has changed that you would tell me now?" Relieved Jon motioned back to the tent, "Get Tormund and I'll bring the game I hunted earlier. It's best I explain in your tent."

An hour later he was seated on the floor of Mance's tent with a handful of wildling leaders. Tormund, the Lord o' Bones, Styr the Magnar of Thenn and Oísin's father Cathal Mac Conchobhar. Of all of them only Cathal knew what was going on, and even he had only overheard his son and his friend scheming drunkenly. Mance quickly informed them of the Great Ranging before motioning to Jon "The Wild Stark would rather we not slaughter his former friends and has come up with a plan." Leaning forward Jon pointed to the map, "The Wall has been badly undermanned for a while now, and with three hundred of the best Rangers there remain less than four score fighters to guard its full length with perhaps thrice that number in Stewards and Builders. The Watch will never let you through the gates and if you leave the Wall unmanned or broken it would defeat your purpose. You seek shelter from the White Walkers and the Wall is your best hope." A few of the wildlings were nodding along thoughtfully but at this point Rattleshirt spoke "And well do we know it, but unless you can magic us over it then this is all pointless. If we crush this 'great' ranging swiftly the Watch will; crumble before us." Angrily Jon cleared his throat "I can get you around the Wall and I might even get you land." Rather than appeasing the assembled men this caused Tormund to protest "Tormund Giantsbane kneels to no man, the price of our safety cannot be our freedom!" A sentiment apparently echoed by the rest.

Unperturbed Jon continued "My brother, Robb Stark, reigns as King-in-the-North. If we approach him in the right way I can convince him to come to an agreement. Let the Free Folk roam North of the Wall in the summer and spend the winter in a winter town in the Gift througout the Stark lands there are winter towns, large settlements that maintain supplies enough to shelter far more then the number of people normally living there. No one will kneel if they don't wish to. In the winter you can live semi-independently of Winterfell, like Cathal's kinsman south of the Wall." Already Jon could see he was swaying Cathal and possibly Tormund. Styr and Mance appeared thoughtful while Rattleshirt was, as always, hostile. After several hours a suitable majority had almost been reached, Cathal, Mance and Tormund were firmly on his side while Styr was wavering. "How would we cross beyond the Wall in time, with such a host?" Styr asked after a few minutes thoughtful silence. "Let scale the Wall with a group of the Free Folk and I will meet with the Mountain Clan's and the Bear Islanders. If the host marches towards the mouth of the Milkwater passed the Shadow Tower they can be ferried across without the knowledge of the Watch." Again the Magnar of Thenn appeared deep in thought, after a few moments had passed his brow furrowed, "Aye, this can be done. How we will we go out about it?"

Note: Oísin is pronounced Ush-een, Cathal is Ka-hull (the 'a' sound is like a shortened 'aw') and finally Conchobhar is Koh-hu-hur (it's a dated spelling of Conor). They're all Irish.


	6. Chapter 6

Jon V

The days after the council of leaders agreed to Jon's plan were filled with chaotic preparations. The host was to be split into two main parts, a likely guarded group consisting of baggage women and children would begin the march towards the sea, which was expected to take about ten days. The majority of the Thenns and the Southern People, being the most disciplined and thus least likely to be goaded into a foolish assault, would continue they're march on the Fist, providing a distraction to keep the men of the Watch north of the Wall. A small group drawn from a mixture of the Free Folk would march due south and scale the Wall to negotiate with the Mountain Clans. Consisting of Jon, Cathal, Oísin and four Clansmen, Sigorn Styrson of Thenn and Sitric with five companions. Of the fourteen Sitric and three of his men had scaled the Wall before.

The evening before they were to set out Jon had a few things left to see to. First calling Ghost to him he tied a leather belt around his neck and hung a waterproofed cylinder from the belt. This 'collar' carried a letter to Sam at the Fist. Having wandered around the camp trying to find a Wildling with writing materials Jon had eventually resorted to using leather hide which he had rolled up and greased to protect it from water damage. Inside was a short note.

_Sam,_

_ Going to join my brother Robb, saw Wildling's advancing on Fist. Qhorin dead. Please send raven to Riverun telling Robb._

_Your friend,_

_ Jon_

Afterwards he re-joined a council of Wildlings to help them compose a message to Robb. The message outlined their wish to come south of the Wall for the winter and the possibility of settling the Gift to found a winter town. Most controversially it proclaimed that those he signed it had acknowledged Robb's authority as King-in-the-North for as long as they or their people were south of the Wall. After four hours of argument the meeting was interrupted by a guard "The Wild Stark's wolf be outside."

Jon rose and left the tent to find Ghost outside carrying a response from Sam. Wrapped in his own hide message was a parchment scroll on it was written, in what appeared to be blood:

_Raven are gone, everyone is dead. Others attacked Fist, survivors retreating to Craster's._

_S_

Re-entering the tent Jon passed the note to Mance, who scanned it before announcing it's contents the gathered Wildlings. Mance spoke first,

"We move at once, scout the Fist, and make for the Sea along the Milkwater. No point in leaving men to distract the Old Bear. Go now and tell your people."

As they stood to leave he spoke again "Sixskins, you're to go with the Wild Stark, if his friend in the Watch can't send word to his brother you might do so with Orell's eagle once you've crossed the Wall. The scaling party will be mounted, you have to ride to the Wall, scale it, get to the Mountain Clans and return with help to cross the Milkwater in the time it takes the host to reach the sea. We'll be pushing ourselves so you've only got two weeks.

Without any further comment Mance swept out of the tent.

Riding hard it had taken five days to reach the Wall and a full day to cross it. Afterwards it had taken three days to reach the mountains on foot. Now about thirty miles into the mountains they had stopped. They lit several large bonfires and piled on damp wood and green branches to make large pillars of smoke. Advertising their presence had paid off since Varymir Sixskins had spotted two groups of Clansmen approaching through the eyes of his eagle.

Jon hadn't asked how far off they were since he and the skin changer weren't on the best of terms and the separation from their other forms caused both of them to be short-tempered. Jon briefly explained that they were to address Clan leaders in a fashion similar to their own; the leader of the Wull's being called The Wull unless specifically told otherwise. He himself would use the more formal term Lord. Jon vaguely remembered his father saying that they granted him the title of The Ned while he called the Clan leaders Lord as a sign of mutual respect for both customs and the men involved.

Finishing his explanation he raised a standard in the centre of their makeshift camp. The standard had been Ygritte's idea. The Free Folk often raided furthur South then this and if they were not to be mistaken for raiders and ambushed they would do well to carry some sort of sigil. She had come to him just as they were leaving and given Jon "The Wild Stark" banner. Jon looked over at it, hung vertically from a crossbar it showed a field of snow emblazoned with the black outline of running white dire wolf with red eyes. Hopefully it would stop the Clans from simply attacking them.

Just as the sun began to set, throwing the mountains into a dazzling mix of dark shadow and blazing red tinged snow, the first Mountain men began to appear. Mainly armed with longbows they began to fill the surrounding slopes. When a group finally approached them through the valley Jon guessed that there were at least two score longbow men on the slopes and a score of sword armed champions approaching his party.

Finally an thin wrinkled man came forward accompanied by two swordsmen. As he approached Jon stepped forward and hoped he was correct in guessing who this was.

"Lord Norrey, I'm Jon son of Ned Stark. I was hoping for some news of my brothers war."

Note: I've got horsemen going about 60-80 km a day when pushing it, and 30 km a day on foot. The host moves slower (20 km a day). Ghost ran about 100 km in four hours, a normal wolf runs an average of 120 km a day and runs 9 k an hour as a kind of 'cruising' speed. A dire wolf in a hurry could easily run 15-20 k an hour or almost 400 km in a day.


	7. Chapter 7

Jon VI

Gesturing for his guards to sheath their swords Brandon Norrey examined Jon. Gulping nervously Jon waited for the Chieftain to speak. "Jon Mac Eddard. Haven't seen a Stark in five years. Not since the feast for your brother's tenth nameday. The Starks must have it harder than it thought for you to be wandering around our mountains with Wildlings."

The men around Jon tensed up, ready to spring into action. Raising his arm so his cloak was pushed back Jon slowly drew his sword, making sure to use his left hand and draw the blade awkwardly across his body before planting it in the snow. "My companions and I have travelled far and quickly to discuss matters of great importance with you. We mean you no harm and hope you will at least hear me out. The lives of thousands hang in the balance."

Stepping forward Cathal spoke "Breandán Mac an Airchinnigh cad ba mhaith Beannacht leat a thairiscint do bhráithre fada caillte?*" A ripple of surprise ran through those Norreys close enough to hear. As the tension throughout both parties seemed to diffuse Cathal and Brandon Norrey exchanged words to swiftly for Jon the follow with his rudimentary grasp of the language.

Finishing their exchange the two men issued strings of commands to the present troops, Oisín translating to the remaining Wildlings. Gathering around a tree stump Jon, Cathal, Oisín and both Brandon Norrey the younger and his father The Norrey sat down. As Norrey clansmen brought oatcakes and dried hares meat they began to discuss what Jon and his party were doing. For the best part of an hour the older men conversed in their language while Oisín and Brandon the younger made small talk. Jon refrained from joining their conversation as he tried to follow the negotiations. As the meal was done a drummer began to play. Taking this as a cue the younger two rose, leaving Jon to find out what progress had been made during the meal.

In swift economical sentences Cathal covered the conversation up to that point. As he finished his account The Norrey spoke in Westerosi, "Clan Norrey has two longships and a few fishing boats. The quicker of the longships will be sent to Bear Island at first light. Have a fleet of longships that will answer in the name of King Robb. They also have fishing boats though these will have trouble making the crossing to the coast in the Autumn storms. If the cold winds are rising and the Others walk to the North no man should be left to such a death. Speed is of the essence. Men will be sent to all the clans with the fastest runners contacting the coastal clans with pleas for ships. It will take at least seven days for the first longships to arrive from the islands so the timing will be close. Many clans will be displeased with the arrival of the host but none will actively oppose the King's brother."

Pausing to take a long drink of ale he continued "You asked for news of the war. News is slow in reaching us and no ravens fly to the mountain strongholds. I've had no word from the South for two months and even the news I got then was slow in coming. Last I heard there was a battle at Oxcross on the twenty-ninth day of the eighth moon. You're brother repelled a Lannister army and killed some Lannister or other in battle."

After a seconds contemplation Jon spoke "That is good news, you say it's four moons old. What is the date now? It's hard to keep track beyond the Wall." Hesitating briefly Brandon spoke "It's the late in the last moon of the year although I don't know the exact day. Do you have news of the Watch? The Wall is all but undefended and Mormont should know of what you intend." Glancing at Cathal to try and ascertain what exactly he had told of this tale Jon began to speak hesitantly. In as few words as possible he related the events leading to the massacre at the Fist of the First Men. Pausing to allow the implications to sink in he resumed speaking, "The Wall is completely undefended; hopefully some of the Free Folk will garrison it temporarily while I bring the matter to my brother's attention." Nodding grimly Brandon turned to stare at the fire.

Despite these tidings it was hard to stay serious for long as they observed the effects ale had had on the integration of the two groups. To one side of the camp a piper played to the Northern Free Folk whose expressions ranged from good natured confusion to despair as the listened to the unfamiliar instrument. Across the other side Oisín and the Norrey drummer duelled each other using small handheld frame drums**. Exchanging a look with the two Chieftains, Jon made his way over to the drummers.

As the amazing display of speed drew to an end the drumming stopped. While Oisín began to explain the subtleties of the drum to Sitric (from what Jon caught of that conversation the drum was called a bodhrán and its sound was changed by using a hand to tighten and loosen the skin) The Norrey summoned the drummer and a dozen clansmen and issued orders for them to leave immediately with messages for the Norrey ships and the other Clans. Tired from the journey of the last few days made his way to a fire before curling up under his cloak. Over the next few days they would have to make their way the Norrey stronghold to resupply and then march to the mouth of the Milkwater.

* Brandon Norrey what greeting would you offer your long lost kinsmen?

** Duelling bodhrán drumming example: www . youtube watch?v=Ahw0h8q1AJI

Not a very long chapter but it's been a while and I figured with my exams out of the way I should get something up.


	8. Chapter 8

Jon VII

As he looked down towards the shore from his vantage point Jon squinted at the most recent ship to land with its Wilding evacuees, desperately hoping for a glimpse of Ygritte's flaming hair. Behind him stood just short of six thousand wildlings, waiting impatiently for him.

Through a series of tense councils he found himself nominally in command of a force that would march to support Robb's war effort. The best men from the entire host of the Free Folk would march south with numerous petty chieftains. The most powerful leaders would stay in the North to coordinate the settlement of the host in the lands south of the Wall. The surprising level of organisation Mance had managed to impose in the river crossing meant that no one had any chance of getting across until the southbound force was assembled and ferried over and he would now have to head south without seeing Ygritte.

Walking up to the waiting men he mounted his horse and gave the signal to set out, fervently hoping that he would live to see Ygritte again. As his signal was relayed he joined his "command party" which was really just a few Wildling princes (including Sitric and Oisín) and the skinchanger Varamyr along with two guards and various animals. The warg was currently strapped to his polar bear in a trance. He had used Orell's eagle to deliver a message to Robb a day earlier and was now guiding the eagle back with Robb's response. Unfortunately Varamyr had a poor grasp of Westerosi and being an eagle did little to improve it so he would have to wait for the eagle to see his response.

In the meantime he would make for Winterfell as quick as possible where he would requisition whatever horses he could before continuing south. Speed was of essence and currently only half his force was mounted, though the riders swapped regularly to allow the swiftest possible movement.

* * *

Robb I

The King in the North sat in the campaign chair that currently represented served as his throne and gazed out over the assembling Lords of the North, his brow furrowed in thought. To an uninformed observer the King would have appeared to spend the last four hours going through a series of unpredictable mood swings. Shortly after dawn this morning an important message had arrived. Possibly the most important message of the war. For the confidence and optimism he showed to the world in general Robb knew the war wasn't looking good. It was undoubtedly going well, but that wouldn't be enough. No matter how well it was currently going it was a fragile effort that kept the war moving forward. In his heart he knew he had lost this war with his marriage. The King in the North knew that even if he could buy off Lord Frey he would lose all the progress he had made so far when he moved north to the Twins. He didn't trust Walder Frey enough to meet him without bringing a sizeable force, a force whose men were sorely needed to hold the Lannisters back. Of course if he didn't go north he would still lose a large number of men as the Freys called their banner-men home.

This morning Robb had received a letter that could solve all his problems. Jon was intending to come south and bring six thousand men allowing him to leave all his men to fight the Lannisters while he linked up with Jon at the Freys before marching back to the Westerlands and surprising the Lannisters with troops he shouldn't have been able to raise. He could even have Jon retake Winterfell en-route and maybe even arrange a marriage to a Frey.

The second mood swing of the day had come when he joyfully informed his mother of the news only to have an argument that he left convinced that mooning the Clegane brothers was safer then discussing the affairs of state with his own family. He had retaliated by exiling his mother to Riverrun and informing her that left to her own affairs she could have lost Aegon the Conqueror's wars single-handedly. Since then he had gone through every emotion he could think off and a few he didn't even know existed.

Drawing his mind back to the present he rose and motioned to two scribes to begin recording his words. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a few banner-men frown at this unusual act. In what he considered to be his 'most noble and commanding voice' he began to speak,

"On this day, the fifteenth day of the twelfth month on the two-hundred-and-ninety-ninth year since Aegon's Landing, I, Robb Stark, King in the North and first of my name, legitimize my brother Jon by Royal Decree. I grant him the name of a noble House and all the rights and privileges that allowed to any Stark of Winterfell and Lord of the North. I grant him the lands bordered by the Kingsroad to the west, the mountain clans to the east and extending from the southern edge of the new gift to the Wall, to be his to build a keep on and to be held by his blood 'til the end of time. I furthermore declare Prince Jon Wildstark to be my heir until such time as I have a son who reaches his twenty fifth nameday. As his first act a Prince of the realm I command Prince Jon to march south with no less than five thousand men, to retake the ruins of Winterfell and then join me at the Twins."

Ignoring the large number of speechless Lords and taking advantage of what he knew would be a temporary respite Robb grabbed the two copies his scribes had made and quickly signed them and marked them with his seal before snapping out the orders for a copy to be sent to along with a letter he had already given to his squire who was looking after the eagle.


	9. Chapter 9

Language translations are down the bottom, I left a nice gap so that if you scroll down quickly you can read 'em without catching a few spoilers from later in the chapter.

* * *

Oisín I

Keeping a respectful distance between himself and Ghost, Oisín followed the dire wolf through the ruins of Winterfell and into the Godswood.

Behind him six thousand Wildlings and almost a thousand Clansmen worked their way through the ruin looking for unspoiled supplies. The war band had approached the northern stronghold early on the morning of the fifteenth day of their rush south.

Two nights ago they had passed through a farm where they had been told of a great battle that had taken place outside the fort but the farmer's wife new little of it other than the fact that her husband and two eldest sons had answered the call of Winterfell's master-at-arms and only younger son had returned. Aged only eleven questioning the boy had proved to be of little use as he did not know more than the fact that the North men had been beaten.

As they continued the ride the next day they were joined by the dead farmer's uncle who had joined them to guide them through the Wolfswood to the Kingsroad. When they reached Winterfell they had found it razed to the ground and interrogating several woodsmen from the area had allowed them to piece together the entire tale.

Startled a sudden movement he dropped into a crouch and examined the woods ahead. Fearing the worst he crept forward softly trying to call the wolf back to him. After a minute of his stalk he heard a sound that was definitely human up ahead. Entering a clearing he found Prince Jon of the North lying against a tree with surrounded by an unreasonably large pile of empty wineskins and a small keg of beer.

Thinking that he would rather be anywhere else he filled his horn with stout. Jon had disappeared shortly after hearing of his brothers fate and not been seen in a day and a half. Sipping from the horn Oisín pondered the best way to do what he deemed necessary. He briefly considered just getting drunk himself before coming up with what he hoped would be an effective solution. Tough love.

Rummaging through his furs until he found a small flask he crouched down and shook Jon. When this elicited nothing more than a groan he poured the remaining stout over Jon's head. Jon spluttered a wake and proceeded to purge his stomach onto the ground. Grabbing his nose Oisín tilted his head and poured a few mouthfuls of his flasks content down Jon's mouth. Watching his friend struggle with the after effects of the strong spirit he did his best to sound stern.

"You've had your time to grieve, and you'll get more later. There are seven thousand men relying on you as their leader. Riders have arrived from Cerwyn with more new including who's responsible for your brother's deaths. Now is not the time to fall apart, too much depends on you."

Not waiting to hear a response he turned and began to walk back the way he came. As he reached the edge of the Godswood offered a quick prayer asking the Gods if he had done the right thing. Kneeling for a few moments he found himself looking for some sort of sign. Shaking his head at his on foolishness he began to rise, what did the Gods care for the troubles of men. Turning wants more to see if there was any sign of Jon he found himself face to face with Ghost.

As red eyes stared at him with startling intelligence the wolf gave a flick of his head as though to tell him to follow. Ghost turned and trotted a few steps before looking back. Seeing he hadn't moved the dire wold ran behind him and gave him a firm push with its nose. For lack of a better option Oisín followed him this time. Reaching the northern edge of the camp and seeing the dire wolf showed no sign of stopping he called out "Ghost, stop!"

With the air of a parent whose child is particularly annoying the wolf turned and looked at him. Feeling more than slightly foolish Oisín spoke again, "Are we going far?" He could have sworn that Ghost huffed at him before giving him a stare and sitting down. Taking this as yes Oisín jogged back to the camp and grabbed some food and his shield and spear, spotting his cousins as he left the he called out to them, "Ruaidhrí! Rúadhán! An mac tíre mór Is mian liom dul áit éigin, nach bodhraigh ag fanacht."* Before racing on towards the edge of the camp. Just before he passed out of hearing he heard one of them turn to the other and remark "An bhfuil sé ar meisce nó imithe sé ar deireadh mheabhrach?"** Hoping that they weren't right about his current mental state he skidded to a halt as he reached Ghost.

The dire wolf got up, walked over him, sniffed at the food and then nudged Oisín with his side. After a few minutes with a progressively pushier dire wolf Oisín thought, or perhaps desperately hoped, that he had understood the dire wolf's message. Tentatively he put his hands on the wolf's shoulder and after a few seconds without any negative reaction pulled himself up. Almost as soon as he had seated himself Ghost took off at a quick run causing him to fall off in surprise. The dire-wolf turned and growled at him before padding back and letting him on again. Deciding that he probably wouldn't be allowed to change his mind Oisín clung on for dear life as the wolf began to lope north towards the woods.

* * *

The Greatjon I

Greatjon Umber banged his fist on the table several times for to ensure silence. Less than an hour ago the news of the treachery of Walder Frey reached the Stark host. In an attempt to stem the panic resulting from the death of the King he and Brynden Tully, who had escaped the slaughter and ridden south with the news, had called all the banner men sworn to King Robb to a council. Having let the Blackfish deliver his account of the Wedding and stopped the pandemonium it had caused he rose.

"You are all sworn to the King in the North, and there is still a King in the North. King Jon is marching south even as we speak bringing seven thousand men. Roose Bolton's betrayal and the losses we have taken so far only amount to five thousand men, once the King joins us we'll have more men than we did when we came south. If we coordinate," he flicked a piece of meat to the eagle that had arrived with a letter for Robb a few days past, "if we coordinate we can bottle up all the traitors, Frey and Bolton, in the Twins and besiege it from two sides. Bolton has had an independent command so no-one still alive at the Twins knows about the King's Northern war band. Let us send a message telling of this treachery and confirming our allegiance to the King. These traitors have no idea what they have started. THIS WAR IS JUST BEGINNING!"

I'd appreciate some reviews now, I now that there's a fair bit about my writing that's not great. Also reviews make my day, even if you're just going to give a word or two. Or if you're going to insult me which is at least more entertaining then silence. Also I'm going on the description of a dire wolf being the size of a small horse, so a light fella can ride one and my Wildling Daoine Deiscirt are a lot like the Crannogmen are described, short, lean and agile. I'm thinking of making them related to the Crannogmen since Crannogs (if you'd care to look them up) are an archeological feature of Ireland and Scotland.

* The great wolf wants me to go somewhere, don't bother waiting.

** Is he drunk or has he finally gone mental?


	10. Chapter 10

Jon VIII

Jon stalked down in a foul mood. Since learning of his brothers' deaths he knew he had been acting irrationally, looking for someone to blame. After Oisín found him and then left he had spent an extremely hungover day trying to find someone to take out his anger on. This had lead him to have a lesson in the meaning of the words 'Free Folk', he had tried to yell at Ruadhrí for letting Oisín leave only to have the Wildling hit him.

This was followed by a reminder that the Wildlings were not truly his to command when he woke up the next day and found the war band ready to go south with or without him. Now four days march further south he had received a letter from Jon Umber. To his own surprise he had taken the news of Robb's death rather well.

He had originally been consumed by a rage that had now cooled, his brothers' deaths were not forgotten but he was thinking more clearly. Even as a child he had been like that: quick to anger but quick to calm down as well. At least in the case of Robb's death he knew who would be punished. Slowing as reached a fire by the edge of the Kingsroad he was glad to see that the mountain clans did obey him.

As he approached the mixture of chieftains and nobles who commanded the clansmen who marched with him they bent the knee and greeted him as King.

Gesturing them up he spoke "Rise! With the news of my brother's death Lord Umber sent military records to bring me up to date on the war. Having read through the reports I found that in his haste to call together the Stark bannermen Robb headed south with fewer men as time was of essence. As a result a large number of men remain, your clans for example, weren't asked for men due to the shortage of time and the difficulty in contacting people so spread out. This morning I sent a rider to Torrhen's Suqare. On his arrival whoever currently rules the Keep is to send raven to all the houses of the North except the Boltons, with orders from the Kings for each to send troops to meet us forty miles north of Moat Cailin. I expect an additional two thousand men, and once we can contact the Reeds another thousand Crannogmen. With seven thousand men we will wait for the Boltons and Karstarks to waste their strength attempting to take Moat Cailin from the Ironborn. With the Crannogmen whittling away at the Islanders all the while we will take Moat Cailin with ease with both the Ironborn and the traitors having been weakened. In the meantime three thousand Wildlings will march on the Dreadfort to establish whether or not Ramsey Snow is complicit in his father's treachery. We move at dawn."

On the sixth day since he had split his forces Jon was joined by two thousand men from White Harbour, four hundred from Torrhen's Square and six hundred from Barrowton. House Dustin of Barrowton had been one of the house that hadn't been called upon at the start of the war so Henry Dustin, heir to Barrowton, rode with his men. Though they only numbered six hundred they were all trained fighters and Henry had explained that his levies and several banner men were scouring the Ironborn form the western shores. From the Manderly banner men Jon had learnt of Ramsey Snow's treachery and sent new orders to the three thousand men he had sent north under Sitric. In four days they would arrive at Moat Cailin and take the first step towards avenging his brother.

As evening approached and the war band prepared to make camp, Jon rode out with a small group consisting of Henry Dustin, Ser Marlon Manderly and a score of Manderly knights. With this small force he would venture into the Neck towards the source of the Fever. With the Ironborn in Moat Cailin there would undoubtedly be many Crannogmen in the area through whom he could contact the Reeds. Wincing at his saddle sores he tried to compose a mental map of Westeros and go over his current strategies.

* * *

Bran I

Unsure of what had woken him Bran held his breath and listened for a sound in the silence of the night. For a long while he heard nothing but the pounding of his heart. Just as he thought he had imagined whatever it had been bushes rustled somewhere behind him. Summer materialised put of the gloom and padded past the sleeping forms of Hodor and the Reeds before stopping and staring out into the night. With a growing sense of apprehension Bran quietly hissed for Meera to wake up.

Unable to wake anyone without giving away the fact that he was awake he pulled himself together in preparation of an attempt to warg into Hodor. Before he did anything he was distracted by Summer's growl, not the low ferocious growl that he would expect but a long drawn out sound that made him feel at ease.

Peering out into the darkness he saw twin gleams of red. Pulling himself upright he watched as Ghost prowled the towards him. Forgoing stealth the dire wolf trotted forwards eagerly while Summer gave a short bark before going to meet him. As the sound of the wolves brought Hodor and the Reeds from their slumber he was distracted and it was not until he felt the icy kiss of iron against his cheek that he realised Ghost was not alone. Whoever was behind him clearly looked threatning enough to stop Meera from reaching for any weapons. To his Bran's astonishment the weapon was plunged into the snow near his leg before a man spoke behind him in a starnge lilting voice "Brandon Stark? I thought you'd look more . . . dead."

* * *

Howiyis!

Thanks for all the reviews. Couple of decent points there.

**Darksnider05**: It does currently read a bit like a timeline. That's because I'm working from the premise that the only difference is Jon's choice. Everyone else will follow exactly the same path as they would until they come into contact with Jon or someone who's actions have already been effected by Jon. It wouldn't make sense for Tyrion to suddenly deviate from the norm. The Red Wedding took place a few days ago (before Greatjon I) but wasn't as important, since Robb went to the Twins without his entire army and all the Lords since he was feeling more secure because he knew Jon was coming to meet him with his men. It reads like a timeline because unlike G. R. R. Martin I can't skip about all over Westeros so when Jon has to spend a month traveling not much happens (since I'm not going to republish the actual chapters for characters who have yet to do anything different). I do actually have a timeline I'm working of which shows which chapters of the real books are still going on, if you want I can publish that just so you can keep up on the current events of Westeros.

**jax91**: Sorry bout the short chapters but I can only write in one sitting so the chapters are limited to the amount I can do in one go, although I will keep combining two characters to give a longer update.

**sm79**: Same as Darksnider, if you want I can put up a timeline covering everything that is happening but not covered by my telling of the story.

Also just general point, the real triuble in Westeros is communicatio for an army. Ravens can only go to set destination so communication between two armies (The Greatjon/Robb and Jon, Jon and Mance etc.) is slow and has to be carried out using (in order of quickness) Varamyr's eagle, or direwolves or horsemen. This will get particularly bad as the two parts of the Wildling host grow further apart.


	11. Chapter 11

Jon IX

As Jon's party dismounted in preparation to start working their way deeper into the wetlands of the Neck an arrow whirred out before thumping hollowly into a rotten tree stump. Immediately a voice rang out, "Halt! You may advance unarmed into these lands or return to the Kingsroad unharmed!" Unsheathing Longclaw and planting it in the marshy ground Jon beckoned Henry Dustin and Ser Marlon to disarm, keeping only a standard, and accompany him, after walking a spears throw towards where the voice had come from the group paused again.

When no one revealed themselves after a brief wait Henry's clear voice rang out, "Jon, First of his Name, King of the North and the Riverlands wishes to speak to Howland Reed." A few yards away a Crannogman rose up from the rushes "Lord Reed was sent for as soon as the army to the North was sighted, he shouldn't be long in coming. I would ask that you wait here until I return, these lands are treacherous to those who aren't familiar with our hidden paths." Just as quickly as he had appeared the small man vanished into the swamps.

Seating himself on a few stones Jon and his companions waited in silence for a while. As the lack of any noise, other than the humming of clouds insects, began to grate on Jon's nerves he fished around for something to say, unable to think of anything he examined his companions.

Dustin was a young man, perhaps in his twenties, tall, lean and fair haired with the ruddy cheeks and whiskers commonly found in Northern lords while Ser Marlon was in his early fifties, clean shaven, balding and almost as fat as Lord Manderly. Looking at them Jon wondered if they resented him, they had followed a young King before but that had been after Robb had proven himself an able leader, he had yet to show he was deserving of their respect and obedience. Realising that he had been staring at the Dustin heir for long enough to make the man uncomfortable he turned his gaze towards the outline of Moat Cailin the ruins sticking out in the distance like jagged teeth.

After a few more minutes Dustin and Manderly stood up, alerting him to the approach of more Crannogmen. Looking at the man he presumed was Howland Reed Jon found himself surprised, his father had spoken often of the Lord Reed, well not often but as often as Ned Stark spoke of anything, and from the tales he had heard Jon had expected something different. Deciding that it was best not to begin his first conversation with 'I thought you'd be bigger' Jon noticed the peculiar expression on the man's face. Almost as quickly as he had spotted it was replaced with a solemn look.

"Your Grace, I offer my condolences." When the Crannogman said nothing more Jon wondered briefly how his father and Howland Reed managed to have a friendship when neither of them seemed to speak more than was absolutely necessary, taking a deep breath and trying to seem supremely self-assured Jon replied "The blame for Robb's date lies with the Boltons and the Freys. With your help we will avenge the late King and when the rivers have run red with the blood of the oath breakers we will find the remains of my brother, sisters and father and lay them in the crypts below Winterfell."

An ominous silence followed his claim before Ser Marlon spoke "What is the situation in Moat Cailin, Reed? Until we reopen the Neck to our forces and take care of the Twins twenty thousand Northerners are stuck facing Lannister armies without proper supplies." Motioning to the rushes Reed replied "If your Grace will accompany me to Greywater Watch I have maps and a meal waiting. Also should you require it we have a small number of Ravens."

Nodding his assent Jon glanced at his companions "Ser Marlon, Henry take the escort back to the main force and tell Liddle and Norrey to be ready to assault Moat Cailin with a small force of Clan champions the day after tomorrow, they are to advance as far as they can without risking discovery and then to wait for further orders." When Dustin gave an affirmative nod Jon turned and followed Howland Reed.

To Jon's surprise after a little under an hours journey in a small coracle they reached a cluster of crannogs which Howland proceeded to name as Greywater Watch, seeing the look on his guests face he gave a rare grin, "It's normally deeper into the Neck but since the Ironborn arrived we moved it so we were nearer Moat Cailin. If your Grace follows me we may share bread and salt in under my roof."

Entering the largest structure he found a large round room with a fire of peat burning in a dip in its centre. Following his host's example and seating himself on reed matt by a low table he watched as a meal was brought to them. Of the foods spread out before him when Howland motioned for him to begin eating only the symbolic bread and salt were familiar to him, when he enquired what the other dishes were the Crannogman gave another of his small smiles, "The pot is a stew of lizard-lion and mushrooms, on your left there is a soup of frog and pondweed and the large bowl contains stewed ray and fish. Not what your use to I dare say, but pleasant fare all the same."

After that they ate in silence, though Jon still caught the Lord of Greywater Watch giving him searching looks whenever he thought Jon wasn't watching. When a man came in to clear away the table Howland spread a sketch of Moat Cailin across the table top and sent for wine. My cousin Herwyn is commanding the men who watch and harass the Ironborn. When I met with him this morning there were three score of men, not enough to stop it being taken but with a well prepared defence they could easily inflict five or six hundred losses on any direct assault. I understand you haven't them time to wait but unless you have a better alternative I suggest several small groups attack from different angles during the early hours of the morning."

Frowning thoughtfully at the map for a few seconds Jon glanced up at the man noticing a new eagerness in his face and gleam in his brown eyes, this was the man who his father had brought to the Tower of Joy with him and also a man Jon felt he could trust completely. After a moment's hesitation Jon began to speak "I have no doubt you are correct Lord Reed, but the Ironborn are only a small part of the picture. No doubt you're aware that a Bolton force is only a day or twos march down the Kingsroad; we must control Moat Cailin when they arrive. We cannot afford to end up in a scrappy battle where neither side has full command of the ruins."

Pausing to allow the man to consider what he had said Jon waited until Reed gave a nod before resuming. "The Ironborn have been isolated and have no idea that the Boltons are not simply the force being sent to recapture Moat Cailin, if the Crannogmen intensify their presence along the southern walls and allow themselves to be seen, once the Bolton force becomes visible the Ironborn will assume you were softening them up in preparation for an assault from the south. They haven't enough men to send out scouts so they have no idea of my forces existence. When all their men have been drawn to the southern position on preparation for the Bolton assault the hidden clansmen will launch an attack from the north. We'll take the fort and move a sizeable force into position to defend against the Bolton advance. How many Crannogmen can you muster in a day?"

After a heartbeats pause Howland replied "Between three and five hundred." Tapping his finger against a feature of the map Jon continued, "Here the Kingsroad causeway forms a bottle Neck and you could put men either side to use ranged attacks, I'll give you an additional two hundred Dustin men. If you lead them through the marches your combined force of at least five hundred me blocks of the Bolton retreat, on the narrow causeway the Bolton numbers won't be of much use. They'd be mad to attack a heavily defended Moat Cailin with no time for preparations. Then I'll sally out and they'll be under attack from both sides, with the narrowness of the causeway they'll be so spread out neither end will be able to see the other so panic will likely spread though those trapped in the middle with no opportunity to fight or escape."

* * *

**qwerty**: Thanks for the review. This ones very slightly longer and I've made a little effort to pad it out. Hopefully I'll get better in time. The chapter are still short cause I can only write in one sitting. I'm not a writer, just a story teller who decided that e'd a story worth sharing.


	12. Chapter 12

Lord Frey I

Walder Frey, Lord of the Twins and the Crossing, made his way up the winding stairway that lead to his keep supported by his bastard son Rymen, or Royce possibly – something with an 'r' anyway. He was in what those who knew him would consider a better mood than normal.

His most recent wife had died in childbirth and he had several suitable candidates in mind for the next one, that and some idiot son of his a lead a sally that resulted in the feeble-minded fool's death. War was good, Lord Frey thought, for it separated the competent from the rest of his brood.

The day being fine despite the coming winter he would take wine and perhaps a girl while he enjoyed the view of his lands. Reaching the top of the tower he looked at the position his chair and table. "Fools! Raymund tell those fools to return. Had I wanted a view of Umber's farce of a siege I'd not have dragged my aching bones to the top of my _northern_ keep." As the boy hurried away he lent heavily on the wall and looked out over the Neck.

The Umber siege force did not trouble him, ravens had been sent out and as long as the Northerners were stuck besieging the South Keep they were of little consequence. Given a few weeks Tywin Lannister would arrive to break the siege and the House of Frey would have suffered no long-term consequences from the siege.

The servants returned and with the help of the boy he settled himself into the chair. Having reached as near to a state of comfort as he was capable of these days he gave a small sigh and shut his eyes, determined to enjoy himself in the few moments before the freshness of the autumn air exacerbated his cough. Without opening his eyes he called the boy again, "Royce! Bring that girl from the kitchens, the young thing with the fair hair."

He heard the boy move around but not responds, opening one eye he saw the boy leaning out over the battlements, "Royce!?" The youth jerked around to face him, "M-my Lord, there are men, my Lord, coming south. Some few hundreds bearing the flayed man of House Bolton. Something must be amiss my Lord."

* * *

Jon X

Jon stared west into the setting sun, trying to ignore the nervousness that stopped him eating with the rest of his force. All along the bank a flotilla of coracles and larger currachs were drawn up into the reeds as Crannogmen and a small party of Clan Champions ate a meal of bread and ale and talked quietly amongst themselves. As soon as darkness fell the small fleet would make their way down the Green Fork towards the bridge at the Twins.

The Crannogmen under Howland Reed would set of first, two men to a coracle, one steering and the other armed with a bow and deadly poison arrows. They would silently clear the bridge and prevent the garrison of the Water Tower from raising the alarm, minutes behind them Jon and the clansmen would use padded grappling hooks to climb out of the currachs and then storm the Water Tower.

The success of the action was crucial if they were to avoid fighting a siege and against the advice of most of his banner men he had decided to lead the force. It would be untrue to say that his apprehension was not partially a result of going firmly against his advisers for the first time but the main problem was the coming battle. There hadn't been much resistance at Moat Cailin so he hadn't reached any of the fighting and apart from killing Qhorin Halfhand he hadn't actually fought someone, never mind fighting a siege or a battle.

Now he found himself with the unwelcome luxury of time to anticipate the coming struggle and it didn't help his nerves, the few instances of combat he been in previously had been unexpected and he had just been reacting to circumstances without the chance to consider what he was or would be doing. So caught up was he in his brooding that he didn't notice anyone approach until a hand clapped him on the shoulder.

"You're father oft grew quiet before battle himself. If I am not to bold, your Grace, it is entirely natural to wary of your first battle. A man without fear for his own wellbeing among the first men to die and a King who does not value his life is a King who does not value his subjects, in your case more so than most."

Jon found himself looking into the brown-green eyes of Howland Reed. "It is time, I think, for us to start downriver. The tension will disappear in battle your Grace, and who knows, mayhaps the battle fever will take you like it did your sire." Not waiting for a response the Crannogman turned away and gave a low birdlike call. On hearing the signal Crannogmen began launching their coracles while the Clansmen ran fingers over blades and checked the knots on straps and belts. For want of something to do Jon slid Longclaw a few inches out of his scabbard and tested the blade, the Valyrian steel was unsurprisingly razor sharp, and Jon bit back a yelp as he drew blood.

Glancing around to see if anyone had noticed his mishap he pulled on gloves and boarded the largest currach and making his way to the foremost bench, already occupied by a hulking clansman. As the boat slowly pushed of he watched the last coracles disappear into the misty darkness of the night. In almost complete silence the currachs followed and for an excruciating ten minutes nothing was heard but the slightly laboured breathing of the Crannogmen rowing the boats and the slight ripple of the oars they sliced almost delicately through the water.

When the first sounds met Jon's ears they were so faint he thought he must be hearing things, a few seconds later he heard a splash and saw a few of the clansmen perk up as well. As they rounded a bend in the river the Twins came into view, the mist that clung to the Green Fork only a mile or so upstream had dissipated as they left the bogs and he could clearly see a swarm of small coracles drifting around with the dark forms of bowmen standing upright in their bases.

The Crannogmen stopped rowing and as they drifted silently towards the Water Tower one of the oarsmen stood in the centre of the currach and began to swing a leather padded grappling hook, waiting until they passed under the bridge the small man threw up the hook and after a few tugs gave a nod to one of his companions. Without a word the man passed him a bundle and he began his climb. Glancing around Jon saw that three of the seven other currachs were almost in position.

A bird's cry sounded from above and the bundle the Crannogman had carried up was unfurled as a rope ladder came clattering down. As Jon made to stand the clansman next to him gestured for him to sit "I'll be going first your Grace, if it'll hold a big lad like myself it'll hold the rest of you. I'll give it a shake when I reach the top." he whispered.

As the man climbed up the tension became almost unbearable, but after the signal came that all was well and he began to climb he could almost feel it leaving his body. A calmness filled him but it came strangely mixed with a surge of excitement, where before he had a sickly feeling, like a completely an empty space below his chest, now every muscle in his body seemed to be crying out for use.

He speeded up his climb and his body seemed to cry out for a challenge, even as the calm seemed too increased, he began noticing small things he would never have thought of normally. The smell of the damp and the night and the river, the coarseness of the rope ladder. As he reached the top a hand pulled him up over the edge of the bridge and he felt a mad urge to run off without waiting for the rest of his party. Looking along the southern length of the bridge he saw only ten of the two score that accompanied him had reached the bridge.

As Brandon Norrey's head appeared at the edge of the bridge Jon felt his heart racing. Gesturing to Norrey he set down next where the older man crouched in the shadows. Trying to think of a way to convince him of his idea as they waited for the remaining men he eventually gave up and whispered in Norrey's ear "There's been a change of plan, you take ten men and take the Water Tower, I'll take the remaining men and attack the bridge-side gatehouse of the South Keep."

The clansman's face turned first to shock and then to disapproval before he hissed back "Your Grace, I must strongly advise you against this." With a smile Jon turned away and gestured to the man who had been next to him in the boat, almost seven feet tall and carrying both a double headed axe and a sword he looked to be perfect for what Jon had in mind. Waving the man closer he spoke softly "Gather thirty men and bring them to me."

With almost thirty men in the shadows at the base of the Water Tower most had heard him anyway so after the giant pointed out a handful of men to stay with Norrey and wait for the last men from the boats he returned to Jon. Dropping all pretence of stealth Jon barked out "Follow my lead and make a bit of noise."

With a wild shout he gave in to the excitement that consumed him and charged towards the South Keep. Only seconds later he was rushing through the gateway into the gatehouse courtyard where almost a hundred Frey soldiers appeared to be sleeping or playing dice. After a long day of skirmishing with the Umber force besieging this keep most were caught completely unaware. Moving with a furious speed Jon gave in to the urge he had felt building his muscles and stabbed Longclaw into the chest of the first man he saw with both hands, cracking ribs and piercing his lungs, before swing around to slash through the throat of a guardsmen attempting to draw his sword, spraying droplets of blood across the courtyard. Moving before the guard's body had hit the ground he charged onwards.

Time seemed to play tricks with him as the world around him seemed to alternate between an instantaneous bursts of motion where he and his foes moved with blinding speed without time to do more than act on instinct before time would slow and very seemed to happen in slow motion with crystal clarity. His senses were enhanced and he was aware of every smell and movement, every sound and even the taste of another man's blood on his lips. As he realised he had reached the far side of the courtyard he turned and gave a roar as he looked for his next target.

Realising the courtyard was taken he pointed to the huge clansman and roared "Secure the inner door and wall, if we hold the gatehouse once reinforcements get here we'll have no trouble taking the keep. And send men to check the guard rooms!" The giant nodded and said something to him but the words were blurred and didn't seem to make sense. His heartbeat pounded in his ears and the world gave a lurch before the cobbles if the yard rushed up to meet him.

* * *

"The lad's does nae seem to be wounded, but mayhaps he knocked his head of something." Opening his eyes he became aware of a few faces above him and sound came crashing down on him as a number of people struggled for his attention. Twisting his head he saw the giant clansmen leaning over him. Ignoring a few warnings he climbed to his feet, gave his head a shake and looked at the clansman.

"What happened?" The man studied him for a second before answering "That's what we'd all like to know, your Grace." Glancing around he saw the inner gate had been secured and Howland Reed was setting Crannogmen archers on the walls. Brandon Norrey the Younger was storming towards him with an exasperated expression. Before Jon could speak the leader of the Clansmen set upon him, "Have you any idea how foolish that was, your Grace? You are our King; you cannot risk your life charging of into an unknown situation when there is no need for it! It's bad enough you insisted on leading the expedition, but to completely disregard your own plan and go charging of at the first chance for battle? It's ridiculous, your Grace, and not kingly!" Looking and feeling rather sheepish he was saved by Howland Reed.

"Norrey, it is neither your place to chastise the King nor the place to do so. I happen to know that his father was similarly afflicted. Regardless first we will give him the good news. As your Grace anticipated, those Bolton men who wished to redeem themselves in your eyes convinced Frey to let them enter with news of your host and to help strengthen his garrison. They took the gatehouse of the North Keep and have already taken it with the help of your host's vanguard. I have sent men to the Greatjon and at dawn we will sound a horn and assault the South Keep from both sides. The day has been a success and the North Keep is ours but I would suggest that you do not participate in the dawn assault. Now if you'd care to break your fast at this early hour we can discuss more personal events."

Within minutes Jon was seated with Howland Reed and the giant clansman, whose name was Duncan, enjoying the stew that would have been the breakfast of the Frey guards were they not currently being thrown into the river. At a cue from Lord Reed Jon summarized how he had been feeling in the lead up to his blackout. Surprisingly though he could remember how clear everything had been his memory of the fight was haphazard, and though he could recall a fierce feeling of joy and freedom as well as numerous details like the smells and tastes of the battle field he was didn't remember actual events. Nodding along to his description Howland Reed waited a few moments before he spoke.

"Your father was likewise affected in battle. It's a condition similar to the battle fury common among the Ironborn or the Wildlings. According to the Maesters it's caused by a rush of blood leaving the head as the body realises it no longer needs to fight. It's harmless enough as long as you don't fall of something or hit something when you lose consciousness. More dangerous is the battle madness, today you lead a successful but still incredibly foolish charge and on countless occasions I saw Ned do the same if no one stopped him. Several times I knocked him out to stop him killing g himself. I do not think it fades with age but in his later years you may be able to control whether or not you wish to lose your control to this extent. With a bit of practice it can be a great aid in battle."

With a slight smile he spoke to both of to the clansman seated by Jon, "In the meantime Duncan can restrain you or knock you out if your Grace look's to be too foolish. Now I believe I will set about preparing the dawn assault."

* * *

Geographical/Tactical Note:

The Twins are laid out as follows (in my story since there is not sufficient canon information): The North Keep, which obviously faces north has the main outward facing defenses you'd expect for a castle, then on the inside there's a sort of mini-castle/gatehouse. This serves the purpose of allowing the defending army to fall back to the South Keep if necessary. That means that even if you managed to take a keep on either back a defending force will control access to the bridge since the gatehouse is fortified in the direction of the bank it stands on. The South Keep is a mirror image of the North Keep and between the two stands the Water Tower which has a commanding position of the Green Fork River, ideally preventing water born attacks.


	13. Chapter 13

Jon XI

The southern keep fell swiftly in the face of the dawn assault and many Frey banner men surrendered when the attackers reached the higher levels of the castle, resulting in the capture of several members of the Frey family being captured among them. When, after what he considered excessive caution, Jon was finally allowed through the keep to meet with the greater half of his armies he was pleased to find many of the besieging force to be far more powerful than expected.

It seemed the Riverlords had recalled their banner men as soon as the Lannisters had marched South. As a result Jon was pleased to find himself readily able to gather many of the noblemen who owed him fealty as the King in the North and King of the Trident and while this luck wasn't quite enough to erase the irritation that was inevitable when spending a morning listening to a bloodthirsty clansmen complaining about being stuck watching his King instead of storming a keep it was never-the-less convenient.

It was when he entered the gatehouse courtyard and noticed Lord Frey of the Crossing skulking among his prisoners the last traces of annoyance left him. Struck by inspiration he turned to Henry Dustin and snapped out orders "Send word to every lord and nobleman gathered in either army, the King summons them to meet outside the Southern keep of the Crossing in five days' time!"

As Dustin separated from the rest of his party he turned back to the rest of his companions and spoke, this time to the party as a whole. As he continued striding towards the gate Howland Reed, running a little to keep up, began to speak "Your Grace, are you certain you wish to summon all your principal subjects without preparing yourself somewhat better?"

* * *

Howland Reed I

The King answered his question without looking back, "I will make an example, Lord Reed, of what happens to those who betray their King, break the sacred laws of hospitality and hatch plots with our enemies. The Late Lord Frey is shortly to become the late Lord Frey."

Still struggling to keep up with the taller man Howland wondered how best to voice his doubts, as King Jon slowed to allow the portcullis to rise he cleared his throat before beginning nervously, "You are not a known quantity your Grace, if you simply execute Frey it may not be well received, even when Joffrey accused your father he still went through the pretence of a trial."The King gave him a penetrating glance before responding.

"Among the Northmen I hold a level of legitimacy both from my brothers actions and my father's role in my upbringing, but among the Riverlord's the southern customs and proprieties run stronger than at home, and unlike my brother I can claim no bonds of Kingship. If we are to survive as an independent Kingdom I must capitalise on this victory politically as well as militarily, I must be seen as a conqueror with the strength to shield the Riverlands from our southern foes. I can use the political capital from this victory to cement my control or I can allow it to wither away. If I grant a trial I guarantee Frey will remind all those who do not need reminding of everything from the name of my mother to the broken vows of the Night's Watch."

Surprised at his liege's political forethought and unable to find any counter arguments he had not already voiced the Lord of Greywater Watch lingered near the King as he watched the new force of Northmen and Wildlings begin to make camp.

- - - Scene Break - - -

With the haste that only a royal summons, or perhaps and an enemy invasion, could warrant the nobles of the Riverlands assembled. As Howland approached the newly constructed platform outside the South Keep he saw a large throne-like chair rested in the centre of the platform, directly in front of a gallows, while seven chairs stood to the right and seven to the left. Ser Marlon Manderly pointed him to the left he saw that the chairs arranged around what he assumed to be the King's each had a shield in front of them.

Walking along the platform in the direction Ser Marlon had pointed he passed a chair with a shield carrying the Umber crest on it, followed by a Manderly shield and then at the third chair to the King's right came the familiar green and black lizard lion of House Reed. Quietly observing the growing crowds he saw that on the left of the empty throne the newly liberated Edmure Tully was accompanied by a Mallister, a Vance and a Bracken as well as three sigils he did not recognise.

Within minutes the gathering of lords seemed to be complete. Almost as soon as the last Riverlord took a seat on the platform King Jon climbed stairs behind the throne accompanied by his new Clansman guard and a bound and gagged Walder Frey. Without pausing he went over to his seat, motioned for silence and then gave a nod to the clansman, who proceeded to hold up a shield painted in the arms of House Frey.

The crowd had now completely stilled, and the low roar of the Trident was all that could be heard. After a small pause, the Clansmen marched Frey up the gallows block and placed his head in the noose, while the gagged lord made an unsuccessful attempt at speech the Frey shield was strapped to his legs.

Almost casually the King rose and approached the gagged man, as he approached the gallows his guard backed away. Advancing at a slow measured pace the King reached the gallows and in a swift and sudden movement swept the block from under Frey with a kick. With the added weight of the shield the short fall broke the man neck, and though he jerked briefly the suddenness of his death was so quick and quiet the crowd did not seem to realise what had happened before the King turned and raised a hand for silence. The silence, now almost absolute, was broken not by the King but by the harsh cry of a raven.

Tilting his head upward the congregation saw a large group of ravens winging their way northward. As the ravens flew over the river one broke off toward the rookery of the Frey Keep while the remaining ravens, numbering well over a score, continued northward. The spell of silence broken the gathered lords broke into urgent muttering.

Just to his left Howland saw the King send someone running up towards the keep to get the raven's message. Raising his voice that all might hear the King spoke out "We will wait for whatever momentous news this is before we continue!"

Gesturing for everyone to remain seated the King sat in silence as the minutes passed. After what seemed like an eternity a young boy ran out of the Keep and handed a sealed scroll to the King. Expressionless he opened and read the scroll before rising from his chair to look out over the expected gathering. As Howland watched the King in the North scrunched up the message, drew his sword and planted it in the platform. Raising a triumphant fist to the sky he begun.

"The war is over my lords! The false King Joffrey has been killed at his own wedding, poisoned by his treacherous brother. My brother began this war for honour and we will have this honour redeemed . . . but along the way we his goals were changed. King Robb went to war for honour, but fought for his people, and his people will have victory and will no longer be ruled by some distant Southerner.

The enemy is in disarray, their plans crumble around them and they have no armies left to march against us. I will not keep my men from their homes and families to continue a war of destruction. I am not the King of the Seven Kingdoms. I am not the King in the South! I am the King in the North and so I shall remain!"

As he paused for breath a great noise, swelling until it rolled in from all side, grew. No longer was this a gathering of nobles, as word of the ravens had spread common soldiers had gathered at the edge of the prepared area, and in victory they now moved among the nobility. As the King once more held a hand out for silence and the last cries of the "The King in the North!" "The King of the Trident!" he gestured at the gently swaying corpse of Walder Frey.

"This war has been won, as was my father's war with King Robert, but to move forward, to not repeat the mistakes that lead to civil wars in as many generations we must look in victory to remove the root of these problems. Twice a mad King has claimed the Iron Throne and what way have we of ensuring that years from now there will not be a mad Stark to claim the Northern Throne? How long will our people suffer corrupt old lords like the late Lord Frey?

From my death onwards the heir to the throne will be picked, by the King from his blood relations and approved by a council consisting of the Hand of the King and my two new councillors, the Hand of the People and the Hand of the Nobles. When the peace has been agreed with the Lannisters all subjects of the realm, noblemen and smallfolk alike will be allowed to raise any issue deemed of importance to all men alike in front of a council in Moat Cailin where I will work to amend the laws of these lands and provide greater justice for all.

To this end I now appoint Lord Reed the Hand of the King, Edmure Tully as Lord Paramount of the Trident and Greatjon Umber as Lord Paramount of the North until a Stark sits in Winterfell. As the King of both the North and the Trident I will restore Moat Cailin and name it my Keep. Additionally I will fund the creation of the River's Watch to hold the Twins and the northern shore of the Ruby Ford."

The King swept down from the platform and began to move back towards the Keep as applause and cheering began to break out behind him. Rising to follow his liege Howland Reed briefly gazed out over the crowd and noted that the smallfolk appeared much more enthusiastic than their noble counterparts. Hoping that Jon was aware of the forces he was playing with the Hand of the King turned to follow his monarch, closely followed by the Lords Paramount of the realm.

* * *

Hey, sorry about the really long delay but I've been moving house and a lot of stuff (my computer and ASoIaF books) was in storage for 2/3 months. Please read and review.

Also for those who are interested the South Keep of the Twins fell on 02/01/300 the morning after Joffreys death and the gathering of nobles takes place on the 7th five days later.


End file.
